


Bayside

by 2amphan



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 06:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11503947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2amphan/pseuds/2amphan
Summary: One bay window, two people, and dozens of houseplants.





	Bayside

       Grey clouds encumber the five am skies, and trees wave their scrawny arms through the floor to ceiling windows in the kitchen. I’m sat at the wooden table placed in front of our bay window. The table is covered in history. The same one we used in Manchester, the London apartments and now our first house. Nicks and scratches were carved into the table from silverware and knives. Remnants of paint persist along the sides and dents live quiet lives along the legs from the constant moving of furniture. I set my coffee gently atop of the table, not quite caring about the ring that it might leave behind. Even from its spot on the table, the scalding drink was causing the thickly framed glasses resting upon my nose to fog up with steam. Breathing deeply, I let the aromas of our home soak in. From tooth achingly sweet candles, to cunningly sharp scents that waft from our kitchen, the smell of us has always intrigued me. I turn my head towards the bay window, its bench covered in knick-knacks and plants. Leaves dangle below the window, almost long enough to touch the wooden floor but continue to savour their distance, as if the chestnut boards would cause the delicate leaves to wilt upon contact. The purple cushions lying upon the bench are indented and flattened from our weight. I smile at the thought of us sat atop of the pillows, long legs meeting in the middle and intertwining with each other while the sun shines lazily through the scratched windows. I can almost imagine you there now, sunlight dappling your fair skin and highlighting the amber undertones in your eyes. Arms supporting you from behind and legs splayed out in front on top of mine. Warm, colorful mugs in  between our hands. It was our spot, it’s what made this house our home. A tangled mess of plants whose vines curled around the knick-knacks and climbed the walls. Wooden chairs unoccupied and only empty mugs allowed on the table. And god how that bay window calls for me, but I can’t. No matter how many plants begin to touch the chestnut flooring or how much the violet cushions regain their stature, I can’t go back. Because although your body is long gone, and becoming one with the Earth you’re buried in, your fragile silhouette remains. Your scent rests on the cushions and the sun’s rays still beam down where you always had sat, but no matter how much it begs for me, I can’t shatter all that I have left. So for now I am sat bayside, staring at where we used to be, with a mug sat on the table and a wooden chair occupied. 


End file.
